


Ricorda ogne speranza, voi ch'entrate

by minjazmin



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: (pig boy is only mentioned I am not wasting my breath on that man), Comfort, F/F, Fluff, Hannibal Flash Fic #004, Happy Ending, I don't know if this counts as Fluff but I am going to tag it anyway, I think this is more of a character study than anything else, Implied/Referenced Child Neglect, Marlana getting the comfort and safety they deserve, Technically this could be canon compliant, Teenage Margot Verger, These are only mentioned briefly, implied/reference abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-16 20:33:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29088390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minjazmin/pseuds/minjazmin
Summary: Something somber played out - notes that did not quite make a tune.The only noise for miles.Nothing else could reach her here.But it was so much better here; no expectations, no doubt, no brother.Margot felt like she was home.
Relationships: Alana Bloom/Margot Verger
Comments: 3
Kudos: 6
Collections: Hannibal Flash Fic #004





	Ricorda ogne speranza, voi ch'entrate

The once-perfect braids that had run down Margot's head were now askew, fly-away strands pointing out at all angles as she clambered through the unending brush. Her parents' estate was so far-reaching that she wondered if they did not own the world in its entirety. There were no horses out here, no people either. The price of the former was worth it for the peace of the latter. 

The dilapidated ruins were a far cry from the stuffy perfection of the mansion that was her home. It was hard for it to feel like a home at all when not a speck of dust lined the window frames nor a single toy laid across the floor. No one would assume children lived there at all if it weren't for her cries as her brother played one of his  _ tricks _ . Mother said 'Boys will be boys', and Father said nothing at all, so in the end neither did Margot. 

The grounds in which this weird little place lay were beautiful in their ugly. Where not a single blade of grass could grow out of line in the mansion’s garden, here the weeds and trees and bushes had all come together in tangled masses to form unruly thickets that looked like they might swallow you whole if you dared to wander too close. Green and brown had taken over; interspersed occasionally with the once-vibrant petals of a dying bloom, a cast iron bench now rusted and worn to a brilliant orange hue, Margot herself in bright, artificial reds that seemed so out of place here. Signs of a life once lived were all that remained. The only thing to disturb the signs of a long-gone past was Margot; the future coming closer and closer with every breath. 

It was not that she had intended to run off. Usually, she would never leave the horses if she had the choice, but today was different. She knew how good she was, and she knew that if she wanted to keep winning competitions no amount of training would be too much. But the new trainer was, well frankly the new trainer was an asshole. Of course, when she told her parents why she wanted to find someone else she would make it a little more eloquent than that. But if they wanted the truth there would be no better word to say than that. 

It was so quiet out here - so empty and devoid of anything. She looked to the sky; not even a bird seemed to waywardly soar into this place. As the wind rustled the tired leaves and scattered them around her, she decided. She decided to air her opinion now, while no one could stop her, while no one could reprimand her. Nests of wasps and hornets clung to the trees, but no insect seemed to reveal itself as she trapsed further into their abode.

With a sharp inhale of breath, she tipped her head back and screamed: 

"Asshole. Asshole. Asshole."

The vision of the angry man, that gruff voice and his unending bites – Margot had soured of negative reinforcement long before this fool had made his way into her stables, she refused to accept it in any instance where she had the ability to stop it. With each cuss falling out of her mouth, she could not help but giggle alongside it.

She never swore - at least not out loud - lest her parents hear. Or worse her brother. Suddenly rules which had only ever been  _ gentle guidance _ to him  _ must _ be harshly imposed upon his little sister. How Margot ended up grounded for saying 'shit' while her brother's Indian Burn marks littered her arms unreprimanded, she would never understand. But it wasn't for her to  _ understand _ , it was for her to tolerate. And so, she did. 

“Dickhead!”

But not here, here she was no daughter, no sister, nothing to anyone but herself. Here she was Margot, and Margot would cuss all she liked. And as it turned out, she liked it a lot. The person in her mind was no longer the horse-riding instructor.

“Bitch!”

With each word, she grew in confidence, becoming louder and louder until all that existed in the world was Margot and the obscenities which she was not allowed to say, she was wracking her brain to find ones which she had forgotten. More vulgar and  _ unladylike _ with every shout. She was sixteen, home-schooled since she was twelve. Most of the curse words she knew were from tv shows she was not supposed to watch and out of her Father's mouth when he did not realise anyone was around. It was not enough; she vowed to learn more once the opportunity presented itself.

The brambles grew thicker as she trapsed into the house; swiping at her viciously. Leather riding boots protected her as well as they could, but above the knee she was exposed to whatever might be thrown at her. She climbed through the empty window frame and felt a nasty thorn lash at her cheek. This was their home, their safe space, Margot had to prove she did not wish anything more than to wander a while. Only to bask in a supposed safety, however temporary it may be.

The walls of the building looked as if they might cave in at any moment; but it did not deter Margot from crossing the threshold. She was far too curious to turn back now. Rubble coated the floor in disarrayed piles. Beams were exposed and rotted. Everything of a life once lived was gone. Everything except a piano.

In the middle of the room, it stood proudly. Like the one tree to survive the forest fire. Like the single ship untouched after the treacherous storm. Margot wondered if she should leave before her hands brought about the final act of destruction. 

But then, she heard it. A gentle timbre. Unmistakeable. As if a key had been stuck and held. The light note spread around the room, bouncing off the remains of walls, echoing out and inviting in the overgrowth. But it was only her here in this shell of a house, and she could see the piano so clearly. No one else was here so how could it play?

She darted between this room and the next; perhaps there was another piano and another player. Where she was now had once been a kitchen; broken units and a crumpled oven told her as much. A knife sat atop broken marble. Its once lustrous shine now faded and dulled to a mottled patina of blueish-green; exposure had been unkind to it. To everything except the piano. As she picked it up, the blade came free from its wooden hilt and dropped to the ground. It landed in the dust with a dull thud; Margot quickly kicked rubble and debris over it until no untrained eye would ever spot it.

The next room was a study. The bookshelves which remained standing housed rows of old books that had become so festered in damp and mildew to be of any use to anyone now. Even more books had made it to the floor in frightful heaps. Once bold and illustrious covers, now sat with faded gold lettering and sprouts of fungi emerging from the pages. It was hard to imagine this place was ever anything but the beautiful disarray which it had now succumbed to.

Down the hall stood the stairs, or what remained, which was much less than adequate for Margot to climb. No one could be upstairs. Not unless they had been cooped away up there since before the timbers had given way; and even then, Margot did not trust that what remained of the floors would be enough to hold someone steady. 

Another flurry of notes cascaded through the quiet air. An unsettled novicey in their haphazard fingering of the keys. 

It was coming from the piano room this time; she was sure of it. As she ran back, the wailing tune grew louder and louder. Her feet drew to a firm stop before the piano, she dared not touch it and disturbs its haunting pursuits.

The little, broken tune of uncertain, broken notes made its way deep into her head. It was unpleasant at every beat, but it was beautiful. As it seemed to repeat over and over, Margot found the corners of her lips turning up. The perfect rows of teeth, finally free from braces, shone as she smiled. Her foot tapped absently in the dust; dancing to the song of the unknown.

When it finally stopped, Margot quickly came to wonder if she had heard anything at all. There was no one there; she had never approached close to play herself. Perhaps her imagination had decided that this strange little corner of the world needed its own melody. Regardless of where it had come from, of if it had even been at all, Margot knew it would never leave her.

As rain began to spatter against the ageing brick, the state of disrepair became even more evident. Margot would have hidden away here for all of eternity if she could; but the holes in the roof and the walls and the floor were no place of physical safety.

She ran back to the mansion; the walk seemed so much less significant than the journey which she had taken to find  _ her house _ . A bellowing voice was quick to find her.

“Margot Verger, where do you think you’ve been?” Her father asked, the stony anger hard set in his wrinkled face. “What makes you think you can just run off like that?”

Margot’s wide eyes met his gaze. Not a hint of remorse or concern passed through. Her father was looking at her tattered appearance. Disdain rippled through him; it was ineffectual now as the only true emotion she ever seemed to pull from him.

“Daddy, my new horse-riding instructor is an  _ asshole _ . And he is being fired immediately.”

***

The brambles welcomed her. Thicker and more imposing now as a result of the passing time, and yet somehow less alive in their vicious guard of this sacred place. The wide-eyed excitement of her childhood had dulled. Leaves and brambles no longer seemed like wonders of the world.

But still, she felt it as soon as she saw it, the house that refused to collapse even after all this time. After that first time, she had never come back. Never dared the sanctity of the place by tarnished. Never let her brother lay his eyes upon it and crush it under his heel gleefully as all she could do was watch on. 

But now, she wanted to share it. Needed to share it. A boundless hope which had planted its seed in her brain all those years ago. There were times when she thought it destroyed; burned or rotted away. But perhaps like the house sat so far away from the world, the hope had too. It had planted itself so deeply in Margot’s brain that even she couldn’t find it herself. Protected and sacred and only revealing itself again when it knew all the malice which could have come before it was wiped away. 

The little tune had woken her up from her dreams of this place, and had not stopped repeating itself in her head since. 

Finally, the overgrowth had found its home. Branches and vines interspersed between the failing bricks and crumbling beams; they had become like cement now, if even a single branch was moved the whole thing would be compromised. The dying walls protected the small buds which had begun to grow from the world outside, too. A perfect harmony.

The soft hand in her own drew them closer and closer together; eager not to leave her side in amongst the unfamiliar wasteland. But Margot knew she trusted her; Margot knew that she knew they were no safer than when in each other’s grasp. 

They crossed passed the abysmal tangles of weeds and debris with careful footing. In through the window frame, Margot had not dared to come back here since that first time all those years ago. It had been like a secret that she was scared to reveal even to herself. If she thought about the place too intently, she thought that someone else might take notice. Somehow, they would find this little place and rip it from her. Until now she had only ever gone there in her dreams.

But Alana was not like anyone else. Alana held all of Margot’s flaws and imperfections in coddled arms just how she held their son. She wanted nothing more than to give Margot the world and help her cope with the reality that was. The thought of lying to Alana was unbearable; she had helped Margot pull herself out of the mud and clean herself off until she too could see what Alana saw in her.

Alana was an endless beacon of light; Margot was the lightkeeper. While Alana illuminated the way, Margot in turn helped keep her burning bright.

Fingers slotted perfectly into their knuckles as they clasped their hands together. The piano was still there. 20 years had passed, but the piano seemed unyielding in its stature. It had waited all this time just to be heard again. Just for Margot’s ears. And now Alana’s too.

Alana’s eyes were patient and gentle in their stare; still not quite certain why they had come all this way. She waited and waited, not a muscle or a tendon tensing in frustration. Finally, Margot spoke with eyes fixed upon the worn instrument.

“I came here as a girl. No one else knew about this place.”

“And now you have brought me here?” Alana asked, spurring Margot to speak further.

“Back then, it was the only place I had ever felt like myself. Like the eyes of my family, of anyone, could cast a judgemental gaze.”

She turned, so that she and Alana were directly facing with both hands clasped together. Alana’s eyes were the only ones which did not judge; the only eyes which cast upon her no preconception of her fate. Perhaps this place had felt like purgatory before; a choice to make which could pull the very world from under her. But now, now the choices had been made and the world was never more firmly under her feet. If the Inferno or if Heaven awaited her, she had never cared less. 

One hand pulled away from Alana’s, and whispered gently across the keys. Her eyes shot expectantly between Alana’s gazes and the piano below her, until finally Alana seemed to understand her meaning.

“I don’t know how to play,” Alana said.

“Well nor do I. But please...”

She squinted at her for a moment, before her cherry-red lips fell into the most beautiful smile to ever grace the earth. The hands still clasped together fell apart at the most reluctant pace.

Alana’s fingers were hesitant at the keys. She hit a few notes – an awkward sound. 

Margot stood back; exactly the spot she had stood as a girl and watched the piano play its tune with no need for a pianist.

The strange tension of revealing such a secret place to Alana was melting away. The last icy hellishness that rested upon her shoulders. No more secrets. No more hiding. No more brother. The fears of her childhood could finally be laid to rest in this place and swallowed up by the rubble and the brambles and the melody of broken notes.

Tears spilled as she watched on. Watched as her wife played notes that did not quite make a tune. The awkward melody that never stopped playing in her head. Her perfect little place in the world had become even more perfect than before. Perhaps Margot didn’t need a pianist; perhaps that was what this place had meant to say to her all along. But if Alana was to be her pianist, she would never give her up for the world.

**Author's Note:**

> 'Ricorda ogne speranza, voi ch'entrate' means 'Remember all hope, ye who enter here'.
> 
> It references the famous 'Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate' from Dante's Inferno which means 'Abandon all hope, ye who enter here'.
> 
> I really hope you enjoyed the fic!


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